


In the beast's shadow

by Sylvain_is_a_puppy (Lunaticality)



Series: What we longed for [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Golden Deer Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Golden Deer Sylvain Jose Gautier, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, I wrote this to heal myself so rest assured my friend I would not hurt you, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), if you've played GD you knew who, minor blue lions spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23895898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunaticality/pseuds/Sylvain_is_a_puppy
Summary: When the war was over, Felix became a mercenary and Sylvain, the new Margrave.After two years, their paths crossed again. Felix tried to convince himself that it was a mere coincidence.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: What we longed for [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773592
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This follows Felix and Sylvain's joint ending in the Golden Deer route, where Felix relinquished his noble title and became a wandering sellsword; he was later hired by Sylvain, who had become the new Margrave.
> 
> I played Blue Lions first and very much enjoyed Golden Deer route, until I was hit by their paired ending and it broke me, so I had to fix it. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> *update 20/5/12*  
> Added some transitions in between to improve the flow.  
> Decided to dig deeper on the angst/guilt, but it also made the reconciliation sweeter so yay  
> Happy for now, thanks for reading!

Even in retrospect, it didn’t seem _that_ wrong when Sylvain went to the professor and asked if he could switch to the Golden Deer. It’s not like he would be completely cut off from his lion friends: they still live under the same roof, eat at the same hall, train on the same ground, and of course, look out for each other in real battles. It’s honestly not that much of a difference.

“Of course, I would be happy to have you in my class.” The professor nodded, “Felix is running out of training partners.”

You see, Felix switched a few weeks ago and things hardly changed at all. The two of them still had dinners together even though they were now on different schedules during the day. Sylvain remembered when Felix wouldn’t shut up about the new professor’s swordsmanship, and strategies he had come up with to beat said professor in their next training session. Felix was never the talkative kind, but in those moments, his amber eyes were beaming with excitement that Sylvain had never seen before.

And of course, Sylvain just wanted to learn from the best. Although Felix did warn him that the professor was not nearly as well-versed in lance nor axe, “he’s good enough for _you_ ,” his childhood friend huffed, lips turning upwards into a smirk as he glanced over the table. “Ha, just you wait,” Sylvain remembered smirking back, “maybe I’ll beat him before you do.”

Years later, Sylvain would replay that scene in his head over and over again, on how that sentence sounded like an invitation, especially coming from Felix. Or even, a request. Felix could have easily dissuaded him with the same argument, but instead he left it open so obviously he must have wanted Sylvain to join him. Right?

Things didn’t change all that much, even the part where Sylvain naturally became the one person Felix went to for everything. They ate together, sat next to each other in lectures, and paired as a group for trainings. The Golden Deer people were nice, and they all got along, but there was this invisible force that gently pushed the two toward each other, and in all honesty, Sylvain couldn’t complain.

The lions back home took it well too, since everyone knew how focused Felix was on his training; and once the door was open, Sylvain’s later transfer was taken as a given without further questions. They still hung out together with their former classmates, who were curious about the new professor and asked them lots of questions. They laughed and joked around like they always did, at one point Sylvain betting Dimitri that if he represented the Blue Lions in the dance competition, he’d convince the professor to choose Felix for their class. Dimitri was confused as to why he would want either of those things, but the prospect of a dance-off between Dimitri and Felix sure brought lots of cheers and laughter from the group.

What Sylvain didn’t expect was how much influence the professor ended up having over both of them. The professor who could wield the legendary Sword of the Creator without a crest stone, who tore apart the sky to emerge from darkness unknown and then literally became Goddess’ incarnation. The professor who obtained all these amazing powers and yet remained exactly the same, as the calm, seemingly emotionless but truly kind person they met on the first day. There was something about the professor that pulled all the students in his class, those who got to know him the best, towards him like a powerful magnet.

So when the professor reappeared after five long, harsh years into this ruthless war, Sylvain was drawn to him. He didn’t know why or how, he just had a gut feeling that the professor was the key to this unfathomable puzzle that no one could piece together, and that whichever side this man was on would become the right side of history.

He left for the professor, and so did Felix. Instead of defending their families’ territories and fighting a hopeless war with no king, maybe it would more effective to join the already powerful army the professor had gathered and charge directly for the Empire, eradicating the root of evil once and for all. The logic was sound and it was a reasonable decision, as Sylvain would go on to relive that moment in his head and came to the same conclusion every single time. At least the two of them were in this together, once again.

Until they saw Dimitri again, on the other side of the Gronder field.

Felix felt like someone punched him in the gut when he learned that they were indeed heading north for the Gautier’s territory. He was undoubtedly the leader of his elite mercenary team, but he never preoccupied himself with the who, where and how much of their operations. What he knew best was his sword; how to fight, kill and survive, perhaps thanks to all those years training at the monastery under a former mercenary. Negotiations were tedious, and thus left to someone else.

For a good few seconds, Felix seriously considered using his authority as the leader to wheel his team away right then and there, the prospect of meeting a certain someone tied a knot in his stomach. The knot twisted itself, and suddenly Felix felt like vomiting.

He did use a fake last name and tried to conceal his identity as much as he could ever since embarking on this path, so it _could_ be mere coincidence. Maybe it was some else who hired them, some minor officials working for the Gautier. Or even if it was indeed that dreaded certain someone, maybe he didn’t know it was Felix. Maybe he could send someone else as the substitute leader so that Felix wouldn’t have to show his face.

Or maybe, they would simply meet again, and act like nothing had ever happened.

The more Felix thought about it, the more nauseous he became. Some of these imaginary scenarios required that he conjured up a certain face, and that mental image alone made him stomach a hundred times worse. A name was probing on the tip of his tongue, the syllables so familiar despite two years’ disuse, but Felix refused to let them line up in the right order to form it properly, shoving them back deep into his head.

Sylvain has been expecting the arrival of the mercenaries all afternoon. He stared hard through his servant who informed him that the team was finally here, maybe too hard since the other man now looked a little afraid. Sylvain looked away, asking him to bring the leader up to his chamber and accommodate the rest.

Only then, when the room was empty again, did Sylvain realized how utterly unprepared he was for this. So unprepared that a small part in him wished they got it all wrong and whoever’s leading this group was not his—

The door opened, and there he was. His dark hair was somewhat longer than it used to be during the war, the end of his ponytail now brushing against his shoulders. He was dressed in light armors over his turtleneck, all in black, with a short cape guarding against the northern chill. His outfit reminded Sylvain of their professor, but with absolutely no color it looked colder, and much further away.

“Felix,” his mind froze, and so did his body, yet words somehow escaped his lips as if by instinct, “it really is you”. He didn’t know if he managed to utter the second half. He didn’t know if he actually said anything at all.

“Margrave Gautier.” The other man responded; his voice so familiar but the words were so strange.

He half expected that, although that didn’t make it any less painful.

If anyone thought Felix would jump into the arms of an old friend—an old lover—that person would be wrong, and he clearly had never met the guy. Hell, Felix never received Sylvain’s gestures of affection without a scowl or frown on his face, even back in the Academy in their old, relatively carefree days. Let alone now, with two years’ complete cut-off, a dead childhood friend, a broken kingdom, shattered duties, guilt, regret…

Sylvain did not expect this to be easy, but he’d be damned if he didn’t give it try.

All he wanted to do was to wrap arms around Felix and pull him into an embrace, to finally feel the living, breathing warmth of Felix’s body as it echoed his own. Because the dull ache in him was unbearable, and he needed to feel that warmth again if only to quench the damp fears and worries stacked too high over the past several months.

But he also knew he couldn’t do that, in spite of every fiber in his body screaming to.

“That’s…one way of calling me.” Sylvain smiled weakly, only to realize that he didn’t plan on what to say next. His eyes never left the dark-haired man, hungry to absorb every little detail he missed even as the silence dragged on, a little uncomfortably.

Some of it must be pouring out of his gaze, because Felix flinched.

“Geez, just tell me what you want me to do.” He snapped, voice low and irritated.

Sylvain took a silent moment to laugh bitterly at the blatant irony of that question. “Of course,” he walked to his desk. Felix followed. The map in front of them had been marked all over, and as Sylvain’s long fingers drew circles and lines across the coarse, slightly crumpled paper, Felix was furious to realize that he was having a hard time following. The taller man’s low voice rumbled in his ear and through his head, and his mind was miserably focused on the voice itself rather than the words it was uttering. Has Sylvain’s voice always been this low?

Frustrated, Felix abruptly reached across the map to point out a route he thought was inaccessible, his gloved fingers brushed against Sylvain’s in its sudden motion. For a split second, they touched.

Sylvain must have imagined the slightest hint of warmth passing on to his finger. It was late summer, and in the very north end of Fodlán that meant chilly. Felix’s gloves were not the thick, fur-lined ones used during biting winter; they were made of thin leather, mainly to protect from frictions when wielding weapons.

But still, that tiny, fleeting sensation roared through Sylvain’s body in a ridiculous fashion, a wicked reminder of the pure intensity of the feelings he couldn’t show. He was no stranger to maintaining a façade, but this time he wasn’t sure if he could pull it through.

Sylvain’s mind fogged as the ache deep down grew sharper. He mumbled about some rains that could fall during this time of year making it muddy for horses and unsafe to travel or something like that, pressing circles at his temples while stepping back, trying to cool himself. “Join me for dinner, would you?” Sylvain raised his eyes, suddenly exhausted from his inner turmoil.

Felix eyed the plate of well-spiced meat in front of him, couldn’t help but feeling a little content at his favorite dish. He couldn’t remember the last time he had it. He was never so keen on food like Ingrid was, but it was still quite pleasant, the warm smell of spice filling up the chilled air in Gautier’s private dining chamber. He glanced sideways to see a small smile on Sylvain as well, sitting by his side instead of across from him like they always did back in the Academy.

Out of nowhere Felix remembered when he brought the cookies Lysithea had just given him to the dining table, and the strange expression Sylvain had on his face after learning that Lysithea baked them just for Felix. It almost looked like he was upset, which was oh so rare for this eternally light-hearted redhead, and Felix couldn’t help but tease him a little.

“I asked if you wanted some,” He elbowed the small paper bag towards Sylvain.

“And I said no,” Sylvain didn’t look up, chewing insistently on his food but his lips somehow showed the tiniest resemblance of a pout, “she made them for _you_.”

Felix stared at him, barely able to hold back his amusement at this point, “I’ll ask her to make some for you, too.”

“That’s totally not the point at all, you idiot!” Sylvain mumbled ungracefully with food in his mouth, lifting an elbow to the table and covering his mouth with a hand.

“Look,” Felix had put down his fork and was now siting completely sideways to get a better look at Sylvain, with such amusement that Sylvain wanted to punch him right in his handsome face, “isn’t that the girl you were talking to yesterday?” Felix’s chin jerked, but his eyes didn’t move.

Sylvain didn’t take the bait, holding eye contact and staring down at Felix with his stupidly amused smirk. He felt his ears getting hot.

Felix always connected with people (read: girls) in the dumbest way. Dumb cookies, dumb songs, and dumbest of them all, when Leonie dug a hole in the ground so that she could win a training fight. Sylvain was happy that Felix was making friends and getting along with people, but at the same time, wasn’t he getting along with the girls a little _too_ well?

Worst of it all, he was convinced that Felix knew and very much enjoyed riling him up that way.

To be honest, Sylvain liked their small plays of pretend jealousy and harmless possessiveness. He missed the days when they had the luxury to indulge in those tiny tickling feelings, unlike now, when they were nothing but two broken souls in this otherwise beautifully united and open world, and all they could do—all he wanted to do, was desperately hang on to each other.

“So how have you been?” Sylvain asked, raising his glass for a small sip of wine.

“How have _you_ been?” Never the one to talk about himself, Felix didn’t know how to start a conversation. He did what came most natural to him.

Sylvain understood, so he nodded. “It has been easier recently. Ingrid found a way to grow crops even in the most barren lands, and that helped us too. There are small conflicts here and there, but nothing too serious.” He immediately caught his slip of the tongue, since “nothing too serious” didn’t go all that well with hiring one of the most elite group of mercenaries known to Fodlán. Sylvain threw a nervous glance at Felix, who was chewing quietly at his food and didn’t seem to have caught it. “Have you been back to Garreg Mach?” Sylvain diverted.

Felix shook his head.

“I was there once, about a year ago. Met with the professor, he was very busy as the new ruler. He said once everything was back on track, he’d pass the entire thing to Lorenz and leave.” Sylvain paused, as if to consider it, “Mercedes was also there. They rebuilt the Cathedral and the new stained glass was beautiful—I heard Ignatz designed it.”

Sylvain looked back at Felix, who was sipping his wine now. He seemed relaxed, which was great, Sylvain noted to himself. But yeah, he should stop going down the memory lane, or they’ll inevitably hit that place.

“Apart from that, nothing much really.” Sylvain shrugged, “you know how it is, Margrave and what not, blah blah blah, boring stuff.” He turned to Felix with a brighter smile, regaining some of the good humor he used to have so much of, too much of. “Enough about me. Tell me about your life; I was hoping to get some interesting stories from you. Where have you been?”

“A lot of places,” Felix huffed, “I don’t even remember.”

He traveled across and beyond Fodlán, but they all seemed the same. Felix didn’t pay much attention to sceneries, or in fact, to anything at all. He went from point A to point B, fight, kill, survive, and repeat. He didn’t understand the scenery Claude spoke of with sparks in his eyes, the one he wanted to share with the professor and all of their classmates. He knew it was figurative in a sense, but still, Felix didn’t get it.

He saw mountains, canyons, rivers, and sea, but they were…well, just that. He didn’t feel anything looking at them. To him, they were but a thin spread of color in front of his eyes, shallow and meaningless.

It’s quite ironic, really, to think that everything that was ever meaningful to him could only bring him pain now. His fellow lions, his childhood friends, his father, his territory, the Holy Kingdom that was no longer… and Dimitri. The king, _his_ king, one that he wasn’t able to shield and protect like his duties demanded—like he _wanted to_.

Part of him craved to go there, to spiral downwards into the abysmal pain, and sickly he wanted to drag Sylvain down with him. He wanted to tear open all their wounds, let their cursed blood pool into crimson lakes, let the insufferable pain overcome them and devour them whole. With a twisted smirk to himself, Felix wanted to see Sylvain _suffer_ , to see him in pain as much as he was, and haunted by the same ghost that chased him. He wanted to keep calling him “Margrave Gautier”, to act like a complete stranger, to push him away, to cruelly show off how much he hated himself because he knew that would hurt Sylvain the most.

Another part of him was just tired, and all he wanted was to maintain this flimsy resemblance of sanity and normalcy. He would finish the job and leave, as quietly as he had come, back to his mercenary life where he didn’t have to think about any of it.

And there was yet another part, a part of him that wanted something else, something he couldn’t quite put his fingers on just yet, a burst, a lightning strike, downpour, and release.

The heavy rain started to pour down later in the evening, the constant sound of thick raindrops hitting the stone walls felt weirdly comforting, a soothing white noise that matched the haziness of his mind. Felix didn’t like alcohol, he hated losing any amount of self-control, no matter how small. When he was on the road, he would never allow himself to have enough alcohol to even _feel_ its presence in his system, the idea of loosening up or letting his guard down completely unfathomable.

Even now, he was nowhere near being drunk. He just had a few glasses of wine, the rich liquid running through his body made him relax, and assuaged the stubborn mind of his into retracting its thorns and, for once, trying to be a reasonably pleasant guest.

They hadn’t seen each other for two years, and Fodlán after the war was a drastically changing place, so naturally they both had a lot to catch up on. Their chat moved to Sylvain’s room after dinner, where it continued on for quite a while.

Maybe alcohol was popular for a reason, Felix thought, at least since it took his edge off and made him _normal_. But then again, it came at a price that he usually couldn’t afford, and thus remained a luxury for only he was safe—like now, in the good hands of someone who would never hurt him, neither physically nor emotionally.

Felix savored that idea while plummeting into the softness of Sylvain’s bed. He was exhausted from almost an entire day of riding and way too much emotions, although they had mostly receded to the back of his mind now. He appreciated it when Sylvain graciously let him take his bedroom and moved to the adjacent guest room himself.

The bed was huge. Felix relaxed his muscles and wiggled up to rest his head on the pillow. He wrapped himself up with the soft and fluffy blankets, and all of a sudden he was more at peace than he ever was in a long, long time. He could sense the dark shadows flickering at the edge of his mind, but he was too comfortable to pay them any attention. Let them drown in the sound of rain, just for tonight.

The warmth and softness surrounding him smelled like Sylvain.


	2. Chapter 2

The rain continued. Instead of harsh, blinding sunlight, the sky looked dim and cozy, a warm grey-beige with hazed auras.

Felix breathed a quiet moan as he felt a hand gently combing through his hair, calloused fingers pressing comforting lines into his skull. He was only half awake and didn’t rush to open his eyes, not at all eager to break the transient bliss.

Sylvain sat by his side, self-indulgently watched on as soft, smooth hair ran through his fingers with a warmth that was his Felix, alive and breathing, features relaxed and completely unguarded. He didn’t know how many stars had to align for this moment to exist, and he didn’t know how long they would stay that way.

What he wouldn’t give to have it last forever. Sylvain hated that he lived in a wrong world where this warmth and serenity was not his every day. Because this felt so right, and the world that tore them apart with guilt and regret was so goddamn wrong.

When he first received the letter from Rodriguez, he panicked. He took his fastest horse and rode like a madman until he arrived at the Duke’s door, disheveled and desperate. He wanted to scream, to shout at the top of his lungs, to smash down the entire castle to the ground, but when he saw Rodriguez, nothing but a broken old man who lost his son again, he couldn’t do any of it.

Sylvain dropped to his knees, clutching a fistful of the soil that Felix should belong to, his heart, his strong, resilient heart, after pulling both of them through the war that turned the world upside down, it finally broke, pieces dripping through his fingers onto the Fraldarius land.

Why didn’t you tell me?

“Huh?” Felix’s lashes flickered, his amber gaze fuzzy and unfocused.

The softness in his voice melted whatever was on Sylvain’s mind in the blink of an eye. He didn’t realize how much he missed that sound.

“Good morning, Fe.” Sylvain smiled, a little surprised at how genuinely happy he felt despite the flash of painful memories. His hand slid down from behind Felix’s ear and rested against his neck, thumb gently tracing his jaw line.

“Sylvain.” Felix murmured, leaning ever so slightly into his touch. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon, my angel.” Sylvain smiled back coyly, “I can ask them to bring in our lunch.”

As Felix became increasingly awake, he realized that he had to do something with the hand on his face, now that his actions _and_ inactions could no longer hide under the pretense of unconsciousness. The warmth of Sylvain’s hand sent tiny strings of electric waves through his body; the soothing, rhythmic movement of his finger matched his breathing.

In short, it felt nice. And that was reason enough for Felix to brush it away, now eager to dissipate the overly fuzzy feeling before it could mess with his head.

“No, I’ll get up.”

When Felix was again fully dressed in his all black outfit minus the cape, Sylvain couldn’t help but feel that the distance they managed to erase was extending itself back, albeit not as far. He gave himself a mental pat on the back. There was progress. Progress, and that when he leaned in a little closer, Felix smelled faintly like _him_.

“This is weird.” Unaware of the slightly creepy action behind his back, the now sleek and sharp Felix stared out of the window, rain pouring down so hard that it started to look like the bottom of a waterfall. “It usually rains once or twice, but not like this.” He turned towards Sylvain behind him and narrowed his eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you conjured up some sort of dark magic to trap me here.”

“Should I look into it?” The taller man raised an eyebrow and smiled slyly.

Sylvain always felt the presence of a strange force. People called it many names, “fate”, “destiny”, “nature”, for things as small as the weather and as big as the rise and fall of a kingdom. But the force Sylvain felt was more concrete, purposeful even, as it pulled people and events into a clockwork so that history would turn out one way or another. He felt it propelling them forwards when the war was ongoing, as they battled impossible enemies and secured miraculous victories.

He also felt that, ever since the war ended, he had fallen out of synch with it. Or rather, that the force had released its grip, and everyone were free-falling again.

But now, for once, he was thankful that this rain wouldn’t stop. “People say that some crest bearers can affect the weather.” Sylvain looked out into the unrelenting rain. “Maybe someone is wishing for this.”

Felix scowled; the proposition too ridiculous for him to retort.

Felix went down to check on his team, letting them know that they’ll have to wait until this rain was over. He was going to say “this goddamn rain”, but he wasn’t sure if it really was damned. Was he wishing for this?

Was Sylvain wishing for this?

Against his own will, his mind flew back to the sensation of warm fingers running through his hair, and how that brazen idiot called him “my angel”.

He’s pretty sure he’s going to hell.

Felix never talked to his fellow mercenaries about his past, and he didn’t know how many of them figured out how much. His crest was a dead giveaway, and since the Fraldarius land was nearby, they probably had guessed that he must have some sort of personal connections with one of the Gautiers. Regardless, they didn’t say anything and seemed fine with staying and resting in a nicer place. Felix left them be and went up for Sylvain.

Sylvain was sitting at his desk browsing through a small stack of paper, occasionally writing something down. He noticed the other man as soon as he reached the door. “Felix,” he raised his hand, “come in, I’m finishing up with this.”

He wasn’t, and it didn’t matter, because Sylvain just pushed the papers away, all of his attention swooshing to the swordsman as Felix entered the room and sat in a chair across from him. He offered him tea, the kind that he was drinking himself, one with sweet, fruity aroma. He watched as the other man took a sip and scoffed in disapproval. Sylvain’s lips curved up. He meticulously prepared for his favorite dishes in advance of the mercenary’s arrival, but accommodating to his tea preference was just too much. Because that’s a totally reasonable place to draw the line.

“I thought you would creep up on me like a silent assassin,” Sylvain sipped at his tea amusedly, “turned out you were pretty easy to spot.”

“There’s nothing _I_ can do when your stupid head is full of me.” Felix twitched the corner of his lips, arms folded in contempt.

Sylvain didn’t rebuke that statement; he smiled knowingly, brown eyes darkening just a little. Now Felix was the one embarrassed. He looked away and awkwardly cleared his throat.

“I’m not an assassin. Killing is not fun,” he shook his head, “fighting is.”

For someone who loved training and fighting as much as he did, Felix was never a bloodthirsty beast hung up on the thrills of taking someone’s life. He enjoyed defeating others, which made him feel strong and powerful; and when defeat means death, it compelled both sides to give their all and thus the hard-earned victory all the sweeter. It sounded hypocritical, which Felix wasn’t going to argue, but that’s how it was.

Sylvain understood. He flashed his big smile, “Shall we have some fun, then?”

Felix always liked Sylvain’s smiles. Not the perfunctory and calculated ones Claude always had, which Sylvain sometimes did as well, albeit minus the calculation. He liked the smiles that were uniquely Sylvain’s, so bright and heartfelt that it extended into to his eyes. He thought it was sexy and even seductive in a weird way, how that smile opened him so completely and made people (him) want to fall into his arms. He would definitely have more success with girls if he just used his smile instead of cheesy pick-up lines, but Felix would never help him with that.

After a few stairs and turns, they were inside the castle’s indoor training ground. A handful of Gautier’s soldiers were there, but they bowed upon seeing Sylvain and quickly excused themselves. Felix went to pick up a blunt practice sword as Sylvain put on his leather gauntlets. “So our Margrave Gautier can still fight.” He raised his voice, this time calling the title just to tease. He turned around to see that Sylvain didn’t mind it too, brown eyes narrowing only jokingly. “Oh, you’d be surprised.” Sylvain smiled bitterly, “I think I’ve come to understand you more, Felix.” He turned to pick up his lance, “training really took your mind off things.”

He turned back to look at Felix, his eyes not blatantly accusing but the hurt in them made Felix feel guilty anyway. The knot in his stomach turned again.

Sylvain seemed to have caught that as he looked away, “speaking of training, Ignatz told Mercedes who told me that Raphael is all out of shape now.”

That came out of nowhere; Felix could hardly repress a small laugh, and Sylvain laughed with him. Oh, the muscles that defined that good man’s entire existence. “But I heard he’s happy, so yeah.” Sylvain shook away the laughter and straightened up, rolling his shoulders. “Shall we begin?”

Felix took a few swings to feel the sword. He readied himself into an offensive pose, amber eyes glistening with a hint of dark crimson. Sylvain held his gaze, fascinated.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

Sylvain fully expected Felix’s sword to be fast and deadly. His best chances lied in chipping away at the other man’s energy so as to take advantage of his superior stamina. He tried to maintain distance with the longer range of his weapon, and parried the incoming attacks with such force that it must have strained Felix’s muscles to not lose his sword at the impact. He could see the swordsman grimace as the vibration ran through his arm. But hey, all is fair in love and war.

And this felt like both.

They landed a few hits on each other, Felix more than him, but it looked roughly like an even match. He didn’t lose embarrassingly, which was definitely a possibility when he went through the scenarios in his head. That would have perhaps single-handedly ended his plan.

Felix saw through the taller man’s tactics, so he calculated his attacks and put less strength behind the ones he didn’t expect to land, sliding off without resistance and aimed quickly for the next. It was easier said than done, when he also had to fend against Sylvain’s blows, the momentum and sheer strength of them forced Felix out of his position almost every time. He technically landed a few more hits, but most were too light to count.

That made him frustrated, as he abandoned strategy and poured all his strength into the next strike, staring Sylvain down when the other man caught his sword with the lance in between his hands. Felix didn’t slide off again, instead he pushed into it as if to challenge who really had superior strength.

Sylvain’s muscles contracted visibly as he kept up. He had to exert some efforts alright, but not nearly as much as Felix had wanted. Sylvain sneered, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. He stared into the amber eyes through the cold metals in between. “ _Harder_ , baby,” he growled, his voice low, husky and flamboyantly seductive.

Felix grit his teeth, “you are disgusting.”

With that he withdrew from the contact, and in the split second it took Sylvain to regain his balance, Felix’s sword was already on the other side of the lance, cold metal against his neck, forcing his chin up.

He kept him that way for a few more seconds, even after Sylvain dropped his weapon. “Alright, alright, good job,” the lancer smiled light-heartedly, lowering his chin once the feel of metal was gone, “I thought your sword would be more like the professor’s, but it still felt like you.”

Whatever that means. Felix didn’t respond, eyeing Sylvain to pick up his lance for another round. “And that brute force of yours? Thought I was training with the boar again.”

Felix wished he hadn’t blurted that out, but it was too late. The shadows dancing around the edges of his mind were closing in, ecstatically cornering him onto the path that only led to a dead end.

“I train when I worry,” Sylvain rushed to answer, but also very careful with his words, “about…things,” he pointedly diverted his eyes this time, “that I have little control over. To take my minds off, as I said.”

“What things.” Felix’s voice was cold and distant, unbothered, even.

“Just…things?” Sylvain’s eyes darted around the room.

“What. Things.” Felix growled through his teeth impatiently, stepping forwards to invade the other’s space.

Say it.

“The…territory, bad harvest…bandits,” Sylvain stepped back, as if physical distance could get him out of this.

The swordsman snatched Sylvain chin with such force that the taller man hissed. He was pulled close and forced to look him dead in the eyes.

“You said they were not that serious.” Felix smiled in a way that Sylvain had never seen before, twisted, dangerous and alluring, his pupils dilated to such an extent that there was almost no amber left. “Tell me: what worries you so much?” he whispered, voice sweet and poisonous.

Say it.

Say that I fucked up again.

Tell me that not only did I fail my duties, but also put the one person who loved me the most through pain and misery.

Ah, the pain. So familiar that it’s no longer unpleasant.

“Felix, no,” Sylvain pleaded, wrapping his fingers around the arm holding his chin.

Felix forcefully yanked it out of Sylvain’s grip. He turned around to walk off, then he realized he was still holding the practice sword, his fingers clutching onto the hilt with such strength that they could have melted into one. He hurled the sword at the stone wall, the clashing sound deafening against the suffocating silence.

So much for the pretend normalcy.

“Sylvain,” Felix turned around again. He was right where he left him, just one step away, with the false illusion that if he had simply raised his arm, he would have been able to reach him.

“Does his death mean nothing to you?”

Felix watched as Sylvain inhaled sharply, his lips slightly parted in shock; warmth had drained completely from his eyes as they widened in disbelief.

Wave after wave of pain spasmed through his body, the acute sensation stabbing relentlessly into Felix’s chest, hurting so much that even the shadows had to retreat.

It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have said that. Felix grappled frantically with those thoughts as another sharp pang of guilt hit him. He moved his legs to flee from the damage when Sylvain grabbed his arm.

“Felix.”

He tried to wrench himself free, but Sylvain’s grip was strong and wouldn’t let go.

“You know how much Dimitri meant to me.”

Sylvain’s fist clenched as those words dropped cold between them. His grip had become painful, and Felix could feel it bruising his arm; bodily pain, however, was only a welcome distraction at this point.

“But I can’t live in the shadow forever, Fe,” Sylvain’s stared adamantly into the amber eyes that refused to meet his, “not when _you_ are still here.”

Haven’t you suffered enough?

With that, the pain around Felix’s arm was withdrawn, leaving a deep, throbbing soreness in his muscles. Sylvain stepped back and shook his head, “who am I kidding,” he sighed as he opened his arms, smiling drearily in self-mockery, “I would always choose you.”

Amber eyes shot him a deadly warning, but he couldn’t care less. “You heard me, Felix,” he held the other’s gaze, undeterred, “if I could only save one of you, I would choose you. Always.”

“That would be treason.”

“Well,” Sylvain lifted his chin defiantly, “guess I’m just lucky that the occasion never arose.”

Felix stood there, the meaning of those words spinning in his head and he couldn’t grasp any of it. He wished he had something else to throw at the wall or at the person right in front of him, but he didn’t.

He stormed out of the room without looking back.

The rain wouldn’t stop.

Felix didn’t leave his room; he was furious that the only place he could retreat to was actually Sylvain’s room, and that everything in there smelled like its owner. He hadn’t eaten; the servants tried to bring him dinner, but they left when there was no response. It was probably for the better, since his body was filled to the rim with pulsating emotions that he had lost his appetite altogether.

Sylvain came by later and knocked on the door. After what felt like an eternity, Felix heard his footsteps walk away too.

Felix wasn’t in the right conditions to talk to anyone, as his own mind rebelled against him, hitting him with a whirlwind of flashbacks that he didn’t want to see or feel, of Sylvain’s hand clutching at his arm, of his long fingers running through his hair, of how his own gaze always drifted towards the blaze of red hair only to find those warm brown eyes were searching for him too, of back in Garreg Mach when they first…

The only thing Felix could do to push those thoughts away was to sink deeper into the darkness where there was nothing but pain. He’d done it before; he knew it would work.

It always worked.

He thought of that fateful day at Gronder field, when he caught a final glimpse of the blue-furred beast among the chaos, his back towards him, his lance a blur of flesh and blood. He called him, shouted his name, but he was too far. He caught Sylvain, told him Dimitri was alive, and they both pressed for that direction, each leaving their own trail of blood. But in the end, they were too late.

He thought of back in the Academy, how he spat insults after insults in the young prince’s face, hoping that he would shout back, defend himself, explain himself, something, anything. But no, Dimitri just stood there and quietly accepted it all.

Could he have talked him out of his demented frenzy? Beat him out of it?

Sylvain held him that night and told him that they had been frantically searching for him for five years. That they had done _everything_. That if they stayed in the kingdom instead of coming back to the monastery, nothing would have changed.

Professor told him that he and Sylvain were very important forces to have by his side, and that he and Claude would not have won the war without them. He asked him to think of his decision to join them as one that saved the entire continent. Byleth never said anything he didn’t mean, but this one Felix found hard to believe in. His professor would always find the way; it’s almost like he himself yields the pen that writes history.

A history that Dimitri wasn’t part of.

He hated those stupid questions where you could only save one person and you had to choose between your loved ones, because you train hard and become strong and save both of them is what you do, because surely there was nothing you couldn’t save as long as you were strong, right?

Was he not strong enough?

A few months after Felix had become a mercenary, he started hearing rumors. In the small crowded cabins and dimly lighted taverns, they talked about the Margrave Gautier in the far north, and that he was offering a handsome amount for a weirdly secretive task, and that he had been extremely picky about whom to hire and no one had passed muster yet. Felix forced himself away and refused to hear more of it.

Before knocking on Felix’s door, Sylvain had confirmed with the servants and guards over and over again that Felix had stayed in his room, and that no one had left the property. He checked on the rest of the mercenaries to see that they were still there. He even checked the barn to make sure no horse was missing.

Then he knocked on the door. He leaned his forehead against the thick wooden board that separated them. He heard nothing, but somehow felt his presence. With that, Sylvain retired to the guest room next door. He slumped into the bed and closed his eyes, head spinning with the very real possibility that when he opened them again, Felix would be gone.

He seriously considered sitting outside Felix’s door all night like a lovestruck hero in a chivalric novel, but that would be, first of all, way too dramatic and most likely wouldn’t stop Felix from leaving if he really wanted to.

He didn’t expect that a single mention of Dimitri’s name was enough to send everything crumbling down. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

But it simply wasn’t fair.

How was any of it _his_ fault?

His best friend, the love of his life, the one person he wanted to share his life with now that the war was finally over, had suddenly disappeared into thin air. He didn’t know where he was, how he was doing, who was he with, or really, very simple stuff like whether he was _alive_.

Of fucking course Sylvain was worried. He was worried _sick_.

And he had every right to be.

Sylvain secretly suspected that he himself had died a couple of times out there in the battlefield. It felt like a déjà vu, like he had been there before and he knew where the enemy would strike because he’d seen it. When he turned to look at the professor, he would see this flickering light deep in his eyes. He could feel it in his guts.

Like any decent fighter, Sylvain always proceeded with caution, but deep down in his mind he felt safe, for himself, Felix and everybody else, because the professor was watching over them.

He wasn’t any more.

He knew Felix could defend himself well enough. But when all it took was a small misjudgment or a single slip of the hand, as it happened to the best of us, Sylvain was worried.

As if to mock his misery, out of all the things one could do in this vast, beautiful and now primarily peaceful continent, his informant came back to tell him that Felix had most likely become a mercenary.

Ever since that day he had been having this dream, where someone sent in a sword, _Felix’s_ sword, wrapped unceremoniously in coarse brown fabric, cold and lifeless. He held the sword to his heart as he collapsed to the floor, howling in pain, his entire being ripped in half, guts and blood and flesh pouring all over.

Felix.

When he first heard his name, he thought he was delusional, another trick that his rebellious mind decided to play on himself.

Then he heard it again and again against the raging thunderstorm, amid shattered cries and painful groans, like a wandering ghost wailing in the middle of the night.

He stood there, perking up his ears to see if anyone came to check on their Margrave. No one came, only heartbreaking sounds that echoed in the damp air.

Fuck. Felix sighed agitatedly to himself. He reached the door next to his in just a few strides. He gave a little push, and it opened.

There Sylvain was, squirming and struggling against the bedsheets, blanket almost completely thrown off; his handsome features twisted in excruciating pain, tears and sweat running down his face as he gasped for air.

Felix had never seen his friend like this, not once in the twenty something years they had known each other for. The Sylvain he knew was always strong; sure, sometimes his carefree smile was a façade when he was really feeling down, but he always managed to pull himself up faster than anyone else; he could be sad, but never broken.

To know that he was the reason incited a strange feeling that wasn’t entirely guilt, but right now Felix didn’t have time for that. “Sylvain! Sylvain, wake up!” He sat by his bed and gave him a gentle shake on the shoulder.

The red-haired man was in the middle of a cry when he snapped his eyes open to the sound of his name. His gaze was wide but blank, his nose wrinkled as he sobbed heavily like he was still trapped in a nightmare. Felix instinctively reached out a hand to cup Sylvain’s cheek, leaning over him as he whispered soothing words into his ears.

“Shhhh, it’s ok, I’m here.”

The words came out a lot more tender than Felix had intended, but he was feeling apologetic for what he said earlier, and seeing Sylvain in such distress made him think that maybe, for this one time, it was ok to want to comfort him and he didn’t have to hold himself back.

Tentatively, Sylvain’s hand found Felix’s, his gaze slowly turning around and finally refocusing on the one in front of him. “Felix,” he whimpered, breathless.

“Yes, I’m here, I’ve got you.” He cupped Sylvain’s face with both hands, gently wiping away the hot tears. Felix allowed himself to lean down and press a light kiss on Sylvain’s forehead, like Sylvain did for him many times when they were kids. The brown eyes under him were red and swollen, his expression bare and open with a vulnerability that stirred something deep inside him. Before he knew it, he was pulled down again.

“Fe,” Sylvain whimpered against Felix’s lips, moaning into his mouth. It was chaste and innocent enough until he put a hand on the back of Felix’s neck, forcefully deepening it, tongues sliding across as he nibbled and sucked hungrily on Felix’s thin lips.

Felix felt arms wrapped around him, and in a sudden flip they switched places, Sylvain’s weight now on top of him, pressing him into the mattress.

To be honest, Sylvain looked a little ridiculous. His warm caramel eyes were red and raw, half-lidded, full of need and adoration as he looked down at Felix. There were dried tear tracks all over his face and he hadn’t stopped crying completely as tiny springs of fresh tears slid down his cheeks. He looked like a huge puppy who had been abandoned and finally picked up. Felix reached out to pat the redhead in front of him, rubbing fingers through fiery locks, “bad dream?” he asked quietly.

For once Sylvain wasn’t in the mood to talk, as he dived down for another kiss, deep and hungry. “Fe,” he groaned into the other’s mouth, his rough voice sent shivers down Felix’s spine, “Fe.”

Amid fevered exchange of tongues, teeth and saliva, Felix vaguely thought that he should be resisting this, but his head was pressed into the soft pillow, and every time he opened his mouth to take in some much-needed air so that his brain could _work_ , the man on top of him just pressed in deeper, his warmth filling him up with a sweet sensation that diminished his push against the other’s chest into a soft caress.

The lack of air and heavy pressure on his body produced an enticing numbness, as his mind finally succumbed and all he could think, all he could _feel_ , was Sylvain, his tongue, his voice, his hand, his rising hardness, and the sparks of pleasure as he grinded down against him, sighs and moans escaping his throat as Sylvain rolled his hips forward again. It had been too long and they were too eager but too shattered to do it properly, so like two clueless teenagers they kissed and touched, skin burning against skin, ravishing in each other’s warmth, drowning finally in unbridled outpour of affection.


	3. Chapter 3

“Sylvain! Wake up!”

Sylvain fantasized about being woken by his temperamental lover every morning, but the urgency in Felix’s voice alerted him wide awake in an instant. “There’s a thing near the border.”

“A _thing_?” Sylvain rolled off and was up in no time. He was slightly disoriented, partially from the occurrences last night and partially from the apparent emergency at hand.

“A dragon, the big ones. Like the one Claude found,” Felix threw his hands in the air, waving impatiently, “the one that talked. Remember?”

“Here? Now?” Sylvain blinked hard, rubbing his forehead to regain some focus.

Felix made a gesture to the effect of “duh” and rushed to the room next door to grab Sylvain’s armors.

Sylvain quickly gathered himself, called the guards to ready his battalion, and turned to Felix when he was back in the room. “Change of plan, Fe,” he took over his armors, “gather your men and help me with this.”

Felix nodded, his ponytail a blur as he rushed down the hallway.

The rain kept pouring down. The wind was particularly wild, blowing haphazardly in all directions so despite the cloaks, everyone was soaked to the bone and utterly miserable. Sylvain pushed his wet hair up and away from his forehead. He peeked over his left shoulder; Felix was riding next to him, little more than half a length behind. Amber eyes immediately caught his gaze, and Sylvain’s head jolted to face the front again.

They rode in silence because talking was too much effort in such bad weather. The constant rainfall formed a curtain around him, giving Sylvain a strange sense of privacy as he took a moment to think about what happened in the past two days. Drenched in the cold rain was less than an ideal state to ponder on something that involved warm bodies, but at least Felix couldn’t see his face from this angle, so he could blush liberally if he needed to.

Maybe he hadn’t messed things up beyond repair.

His mind, of course, snapped back to the night before. A small bubble of hope swelled in his chest as he carefully adjusted his breathing so as to not raise suspicion.

Physical intimacy alone would not fix it, that much he knew for sure, or else he would have taken an entirely different approach from day one. He didn’t know how Felix would react to it, though. Maybe it would push him to be more honest. Or maybe it would trip him into feeling more guilty.

Damn. Maybe he had messed things up after all.

Sylvain pushed damp red hair out of his face again, scratching his head in frustration.

Focus. He had to focus. Right now he needed to make sure that both of them survive this, return safely, and he’ll worry about the rest when the rest comes.

After about two hours’ ride, which felt like two entire weeks, they finally saw the tip of the monster emerging from the dark forests. Felix kicked his horse to catch up with Sylvain, “what’s the plan?”

Sylvain wiped his face with one hand; it didn’t do much as rainwater immediately poured over him again. “My battalion will create a distraction. You and your team take care of the shadow soldiers; I’ll head for the thing.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Sylvain knew it was a statement, not a question. He looked at Felix through dripping lashes. There’s clearly no use in fighting it.

“Alright,” he sighed, “be careful.”

“You don’t say.” Felix huffed, his breath a misty puff in the chilly damp air. He patted his horse on the side and turned to ride away.

As the two of them approached the gigantic being, the rain was still strong but the wind nearly stopped as if they were in the eye of the storm. The thing turned its head. Its colossal eyes were a burning mixture of black and gold, veins of colors pulsating as they pierced through the torrents and focused on the intruders.

“ _Filthy blood_.” It growled. Its voice, low and furious, vibrated through the earth beneath them.

Sylvain stopped to look at it. The ancient God that once ruled the world, witness to a forgotten piece of history, a past beyond awareness of the mortals. He remembered the last time he saw one like this, when the being called professor one of their own.

Is his professor one of them?

Is the being in front of him like the professor?

Can it turn back time, too? Rewrite history?

“Filthy blood, huh?” Sylvain murmured; a bitter smile crossed his face. “You know what? I completely agree.”

There’s literally nothing Sylvain wouldn’t give to have the crest-borne blood out of him, out of both of them, so that they were not meant to be Margrave Gautier and Duke Fraldarius, just Sylvain and Felix.

If he wished for it, would the being make it come true?

He wasn’t sure if the creature heard him over the sound of rain and soldiers shouting not so far behind them, but the way it stared at him made him think it did.

They stood there in silence.

“ _Suffer_.” The being narrowed its eyes, hints of crimson and purple now glistening in them, the mixture of colors turned chaotic and unsteady.

Sylvain didn’t know if that was a statement or a threat.

The creature’s gaze looked beyond him. He turned around to follow, and his eyes widened in horror.

What’s that idiot doing?

Felix watched from several steps behind, as Sylvain and the thing stood there and stared at each other. Sylvain seemed to have said something, and the thing seemed to have listened.

What the fuck, they want to _talk_ this out?

Felix impatiently tucked the wet hair on his forehead behind his ears. Fire magic wouldn’t work in this weather, and thunder would probably kill them both. He was left with his sword, and sword didn’t work from this far back.

He jumped off his horse and moved towards the thing.

Barely had he made the first step when something started to form in front of him. Like it was building itself with raindrops, the blurry form took up more and more colors as the rain washed through it, a tall, looming figure in gold and in blue. It was soaked in the rain like he was; its sole sky-blue eye pierced through damp golden locks.

Felix froze.

With a sad smile, it raised its lance.

It was an enticing thought to have Dimitri’s lance impale his heart right then and there, the only proper atonement he could ever wish for, the righteous punishment for failing his king—his friend, his family—and to feel the life and warmth bleed out of his body as he became one with the rain. Above all that, he would die in Sylvain’s arms, a comfort that he didn’t deserve, but now that he had atoned with his everything he would allow himself to accept.

Really, it wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

Even though deep down inside he knew it wasn’t real, the closure it promised was alluring nonetheless, at least for the split second that counted.

_I would always choose you._

In a smooth, elegant swing of arm, the shadow was sliced in half, barely in time before the lance reached its target. Felix could hear someone calling him from a distance. Like a gruesome joke the shadow didn’t stop pretending; it fell to the ground as Dimitri, bloody and lifeless, taunting him as if he could have made a different choice.

Distasteful. Felix stared down at the body. A blur of red rushed towards him.

“Felix!” Sylvain grabbed his shoulders with such force that he could well have crushed his bones, “Felix, are you ok?”

The hands on his shoulders were trembling. He blinked slowly. The man holding on to him looked like he was going to cry again. Maybe he already was, and the clear liquid rushing down his cheeks was not all rain.

“Sylvain,” he said quietly, “could I have saved him?”

“No,” his friend pleaded.

“If I stayed with him, could I have saved him?”

“No!” Sylvain frantically lifted his arms and held the swordsman’s head by its sides, “No, Felix, you couldn’t!”

“How do you know?” He whispered, tilting his head with the same blank expression.

“You couldn’t have saved him! None of us could!” Sylvain shook what felt like an empty shell in front of him, “please, Felix,” he pressed their foreheads together as he cried in despair.

“Haven’t you suffered enough?”

Water rushed down his face. It was warm.

“I had this dream, Felix, where the professor joined _us_ , the Blue Lions. He would become close to him and slowly he would open him up. We would promise to gather at Garreg Mach again after five years, and he too would have come.

“He was broken when he came, but professor would lead him onto the right path, and we would fight by their side, and we would win, Felix, we won, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus won, and Dimitri would become the King.

“We would be there to help him, you as the Duke and I the Margrave, and we would sneak out when we were not so busy to see each other. We would go to see Dimitri as well, play with his kids, teach them how to fight like our parents once taught us.”

“No,” Felix muttered, the flush of nostalgia for something that didn’t happen tore him to pieces, his strength bleeding out of him. He sunk to the ground as Sylvain held on to him.

“Yes, Felix, I saw it, some time, somewhere, it _happened_ and I _saw_ it!” Sylvain let Felix bury his face in his shoulder as the other clutched onto him; he wrapped his arms, as firmly as he could, around the trembling man kneeling in front of him.

“But the goddess has spoken, and it was not in our favor.”

Felix cried out a guttural and animalistic howl as he kneeled in the mud, and Sylvain just held him there, tightly in his arms amid unrelenting downpour.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Felix woke up next to Sylvain. His body was so close that Felix could feel his breath blowing softly onto his skin, the sensation warm and tickling. He studied the face in front of him, from his bushy brows, curly lashes, to hints of faded freckles that he’d grown out of. Such a beautiful man, Felix thought to himself. He watched as Sylvain’s chest rose and fell steadily, its calming rhythm mesmerizing.

You were right. It’s enough.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against the other’s.

The redhead moaned softly into the contact. “Fe,” he murmured as he reached out to caress the other’s neck, gently kissing him back.

Sylvain opened his eyes lazily as Felix pulled away. He brushed the back side of his fingers against Felix’s cheeks. “Good morning, my angel,” he smiled weakly. He looked tired, but his warm brown eyes were filled with adoration so utterly sweet and precious, Felix felt like he was drowning.

He too was beyond spent to fight any longer, against himself more than anything else. The fractured parts in him had calmed and faded, and all he wanted now was to let it flush over him, the thing that he longed for but wouldn’t allow himself to receive.

Felix leaned in for another long, lingering kiss.

Sylvain wasn’t entirely sure if he had dreamed this up, as Felix’s lips brushed against his own and they parted slightly to let him in, his head gently pressing into the other to deepen the kiss. His hand roamed Felix’s body, from his hair, his ear, his neck, to his shoulder, his arm, and down to his sides under the shirt, fingers hungrily touching every piece of skin they could reach, each sensation warm and reassuring.

In the back of his mind, he knew there was a long way ahead, that they must learn how to share their grief and mourn together, so that things no longer fall apart at the simple mention of a name. He hoped that one day they would be able to remember their friend with a smile, instead of hiding him in the dark corners of their minds. It would not be easy, but at least they’d have each other along the way.

For now, this was good enough.

The rain finally stopped, against both of their wills.

Sylvain looked out the window at the rest of the mercenaries as they packed their stuffs and prepared for departure. “Come on, Fe,” he turned back and gently tugged at Felix’s arm, “stay with me for a few more days. Please?”

The look in his eyes alone threatened to undo Felix’s entire resolve. “Don’t go,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around the shorter man’s waist, “tell them you’ll meet them at the next town.”

Felix opened his mouth to say something, but the other man reached a hand up faster and pressed into his ponytail, muffling him into another kiss.

Before the electric sensation numbed him into compliance, Felix managed to pull away, smiling as Sylvain chased his lips like a needy puppy who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Felix raised a hand and covered Sylvain’s mouth. Sylvain licked and nipped at his palm.

“Sylvain, _stop_ ,” Felix chuckled, “I need to tell you something.”

The other man fondled the hand on his mouth and pressed his lips against its knuckles. His brown eyes shot a questioning look.

Felix took a deep breath, his chest heaved up and slowly down.

“I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Sylvain’s eyes widened gradually like he couldn’t comprehend those words. He stayed completely still for a few seconds; then realization finally hit him as he screwed up his eyes and pulled Felix into a hug with slightly trembling arms. “Felix,” he buried his face in the curve of his friend-turned-lover’s neck, voice muffled and shaky, “I had so many nightmares where I’d lost you.”

Felix remembered that stormy night, how Sylvain cried and trembled inconsolably, all by himself, in the cold, empty hall of Gautier Castle. Two years of such gruesome suffering that Felix wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

“I’m sorry,” Felix ran his fingers through the ball of red hair tucked under his chin, while his other hand rubbed comforting circles into his back, “I’m sorry I put you through this.”

They held each other like that for as long as Sylvain needed to compose himself. When he did he pulled back, a little embarrassed for the redness in his eyes. There’s something in Felix’s eyes, too.

“I’ll write to you often. And I’ll come see you whenever I can.”

“…Promise?”

“Promise.”

Felix pecked on Sylvain’s lips to seal the deal.

Sylvain inhaled deeply as if to gather up some much-needed courage. His lashes flickered nervously as he reached into his pocket and took something out. Without a word, he grabbed Felix’s hand and slid it on.

It was now Felix’s turn to stare wide-eyed at the thing on his hand; the snugly fitted ring wrapped around his finger perfectly, offering a small circle of not unpleasant pressure.

“Sylvain?” he raised his eyes for the man in front of him, whose face now matched the color of his hair, so flustered that he couldn’t even look at what he just did.

“It’s…just a token,” Sylvain mumbled as he ducked his head lower; he blushed scarlet from the tips of his ears to the bottom of his neck, “to remind you that you promised.”

Felix felt the heat on his face too. He looked at his ring, then the red-faced man. “ _Yes_ ,” he sighed, even though he wasn’t asked any question.

Sylvain slowly lifted his gaze, a stupidly incredulous expression on his face. Before he could say anything, Felix flashed his ringed hand and lifted his chin with an arrogant smirk.

“Bigamy is a punishable crime in Fodlán,” he declared, “you better not mess around from now on.”

Sylvain stared at him, then shook his head with a mildly exasperated laugh.

“Well, stay with me so you can see for yourself,” he pouted.

“Well, come with me so I can make sure myself,” Felix retorted.

Sylvain sighed as he took Felix’s hand and pressed it onto his heart, “give me some time, Fe,” he raised that hand to his lips and kissed Felix’s fingers again, “I’ll sort this out, I promise. Wait for me.”

They said there was a vein in the ring finger that led to the heart. As Sylvain pressed kisses after kisses on his fingers, Felix thought that might have been true after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my one and only emotional offering to this pairing; I’m so done writing complicated feelings. Let it be all fluff and smut from now on
> 
> I was initially inspired by a proper proposal scene, but once I started writing it became this.
> 
> I'm working on some pure fluff following their reconciliation; I'll leave a link here once I'm done. *It's now up as part 2 of the series!*  
> Thank you so much for reading!


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